In the Company of Liars

ONE DAY EARLIER
TUESDAY, APRIL 27

The university library is the perfect cover for a graduate student preparing for final exams. Ram Haroon gets very little done in the way of studying. Few do at this place. Most people are surfing the internet in the computer rooms or sitting on couches and talking over steaming cups of coffee.

Haroon heads over to the book stacks on the top floor of the library. West side, third from the end. He pretends to mull over a series of books about northern Africa. He pulls three books down and places two of them on the next shelf below, opens the other one and begins to peruse it.

A moment later, through the space created by removing the books, a note passes through from the other side. Haroon’s eyes move about; no one is watching. No one would bother. He takes the note and reads it.

Things are looking bad for her. Trial starts tomorrow and their case is in chaos. Prosecution’s case is strong and she has nothing to point away from her. She knows she will be convicted.

She doesn’t know about us. There’s no way. I would know if she did.

Haroon rolls his head on his neck casually, then removes a pen from his pocket and scribbles on the sheet of paper, passes it through.

I still don’t like it. She might know but not want to tell. She might wait to testify at trial to spring it.

The note comes back with new words written beneath his message.

She won’t testify. Too much at stake from her end. She would rather die. Her words, a direct quote. She’s on edge.

She would rather die.Haroon smiles. He takes the paper and places it in the book he has open. He waits two minutes or so before writing his response and sending it through:

A person looking at the death penalty might find it more appealing to end things on her own terms. I think it is time for Mrs. Allison Pagone to commit suicide. I will need your help on timing, of course. Will she continue to speak freely?

A long moment passes. Probably his partner is just being careful. In all likelihood not a single person is paying them any attention, standing in the corner stacks as they are. Still, the notes cannot pass too closely together, too many times. Finally, the response arrives:

Of course. If you can’t trust your ex-husband, who can you trust?

“Exactly,” Ram says, as he crumbles the note in his hand and picks up one of the books he has pulled. He will read it for a few minutes, then wander out of the library.